Author's Notes: As always, for the latest RotA notes and updates, follow me on twitter at /SupremoStories. I promised the good folks on twitter that I would update this story once every two months in 2010...this update is a couple days late but I hope you can forgive me. Please Review!!
On with the show...
Disclaimer: I'm a 21 year old congressional intern. The owner of the Harry Potter series is a 45 year old billionaire author. Infer what you will.
Chapter 9: Joy to the World
"Look, look! There he is! It's Harry Potter!"
"Merlin, so it is! WE LOVE YOU, HARRY!"
"Who's that girl with him?"
"It's that blonde he took to Alchemy isn't it? What was her name? Must be nice…"
"Mr. Potter, over here! Won't you sign something for me? Mary, get a quill!"
"Where's he headed?"
"Does the Prophet know about this yet? Harry Potter before my very eyes!"
"HARRY I LOVE YOU!!!"
Harry set his face with a grin he hoped looked genuine and waved at no one in particular, provoking another raucous cheer from the Diagon Alley crowd watching him lead Blaise down the cobbled street toward Pewter, the ancient bistro favored by well-to-do wizards for centuries. In a gesture that the crowd might have mistaken as protective, Harry pulled the blonde closer to his body and growled into her ear, "You just had to have the twins spread it around that we were coming didn't you?"
"We had to make sure there would be reporters about," she whispered into Harry's ear, kissing him on the cheek and flashing a glowing smile as she did so.
"Its like a bloody parade," Harry whined, giving the crowd another wave. "Look at them, they're lined up three deep along the street, just watching us! Who does that? Don't these people have jobs?"
"It's Friday evening, silly."
"Don't they have lives, then? Why aren't these people eating their own dinner instead of watching me walk to mine?"
"You're the biggest celebrity in our world, get used to it," said Blaise patiently. "Besides, the more people who see us, the merrier. You know the plan."
"Whatever, I'd almost rather lose my soul to Voldemort than deal with those morons anymore," exaggerated Harry as they approached the door to Pewter, which opened for them of its own accord. "At least we made it, I thought the walk over here would never end."
The maitre 'd was waiting for the couple as they crossed the threshold into the ancient, wood-paneled establishment. "Mr. Potter, Ms. Zabini thank you for choosing Pewter this evening. May I take you to your table?"
Harry gave the man a curt nod and followed behind Blaise as the maitre 'd led them to a cozy booth in the corner. As he sat down, Harry noticed that all outside noise had been blocked and, upon looking around the rest of the restaurant, realized that he could not see the faces or any other identifying features of the other patrons. Harry was comforted by the privacy – particularly after the insane crowd through which he had just come – but could not help but wonder about how many nefarious deeds had been plotted in this place.
He turned to Blaise and saw that the Slytherin was grinning at him over her menu. "The privacy charms are quite impressive, aren't they?" she asked.
"Very," he said, "Although I don't know how we're going to hear the waiter when he comes by to take our orders."
Blaise giggled. "Oh Harry, sometimes I forget just how very new you are to this world. There are no waiters here, we'll give our orders to the menu and the food will appear before us on these plates. You remember, it's just like at the Yule Ball, unless…"
"Unless what?"
"Unless nothing besides Cho Chang registered in your mind that night," said Blaise, smirking.
Harry blushed. "You noticed, then?"
"Even if you were a nobody your staring would have been conspicuous," said Blaise lightly. "Throw in the fact that you were Harry Potter and pointedly ignoring your date, who happened to be one of the prettiest and most popular girls in the school…yeah, some people noticed. Shame it didn't work out between you two last year," she offered.
Harry waved Blaise off. "Thanks, but I'm long over her."
"Onto someone else, then?"
Harry simply smirked and ordered a rib steak, which appeared instantly upon his plate. Blaise ordered too, and the pair ate in relative silence, sometimes making light conversation but mostly staying within their own heads. It was a mark of the rapid development of their friendship that neither found the quiet uncomfortable. It was not until they had finished dinner and were nearly through dessert that Harry broached a serious topic.
"Blaise, what do we do if the plan fails?"
The Slytherin was visibly taken aback and did not speak for a moment. Finally, she said, "I don't believe it will fail. The prophecy says…"
"I know what the prophecy says," interrupted Harry, "but even you admit there are almost limitless ways it could be fulfilled. So what if our way doesn't work? What if Voldemort doesn't want to see me every day, or what if he breaks the Meminisse charm or what if…"
"I understand, Harry," said Blaise. "If the plan doesn't work, there are alternatives we can explore. It's possible that inflicting him with some sort of deadly disease or even killing him with Muggle weaponry would fulfill the prophecy. We have options. I don't think we'll be forced to resort to them, though. The plan is sound."
"Very well, if you say so," said Harry. He took a last bite of his tart and then set down his fork. "Ready to go face the hordes?" he asked.
Blaise sighed. "Ready as ever," she said and stood up. Harry left a Gringotts draft for the bill and followed Blaise out of the restaurant.
Almost immediately after crossing the threshold into Diagon Alley, Harry's senses were assaulted by a sudden burst of flashbulbs and yelling; as they had anticipated, a couple dozen members of the wizarding media were camped out in front of Pewter waiting for the couple.
"Nice to see you guys, how's it going?" said Harry with a touch of irony. This sparked another cacophony of yelling from the assembled reporters. Harry made an angry waving gesture at the gaggle and was surprised when it succeeded in quieting them.
"Look," he said, mustering all of his patience, "I'll be happy to answer some questions from you guys but it will only work if we can keep it orderly, right? So raise your hands and wait to be called on." The reporters instantly shoved their fists into the air and Harry, pleased with how quickly he had asserted control, called on a witch in the first row.
"Mr. Potter, what brings you out to Pewter tonight? What's the occasion?"
"Nothing huge really," said Harry. "Blaise and I have recently become a couple, and we decided to celebrate our first night out in style is all. This is a marvelous place by the way, couldn't have had a better first date. Yes, you," he finished, indicating another reporter.
"You and Blaise have never been linked romantically before, so how did this relationship come about? Where did you meet, how did you get to know each other?"
Harry simply laughed. "What, and deny all of you the fun of digging around for yourselves? I'm keen to see what you can come up with on your own. You, go ahead."
"Harry, do you have any thoughts on your upcoming debuts in the Wizengamot and the ICW? Have you contacted Supreme Mugwump Dumbledore for help in preparing yourself at all?" asked the reporter, whose more businesslike robes suggested to Harry that his role was larger than that of a mere gossip reporter.
"I am looking forward to both equally," said Harry. "I hope to be able to do good work in those bodies. I haven't spoken with Dumbledore on any occasion since the run-in you lot reported at the beginning of the summer, however."
"Is that because of the rumored rift between the two of you?" asked the same reporter. "How will your damaged relationship with Dumbledore affect your studies when you return to Hogwarts next month?"
"Aha," said Harry, who was suddenly very nervous. "Well, this seems to be as good a time for this announcement as any. My relationship with Albus Dumbledore will not affect my studies at all…and you'll want to write this next bit down. As of today, I am officially withdrawing from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."
The gaggle of reporters, once so effectively tamed, erupted.
"Oh for Merlin's sake," Voldemort muttered to himself. Five minutes ago, the Dark Lord had been sitting comfortably in the throne of his room, listening to his favorite music program on the Wizarding Wireless Network and lazily sipping a most excellent pumpkin spice latte one of the elves had whipped up. Voldemort loved lattes. They provided the caffeine he needed to get through the day after late nights plotting to turn Potter, but had none of the harsh, bitter flavor of straight coffee or espresso and none of the Pepper Up potion's undignified side effects. Of course, none of the Death Eaters knew about this drink preference. Once during the first war, the elder Malfoy had asked what was in Voldemort's goblet. The Dark Lord had replied that he was drinking Muggle blood and Lucius never broached the topic again.
Voldemort was momentarily annoyed but ultimately thrilled when the announcer cut into the regular programming to broadcast Harry Potter's press conference live. In the past week, Voldemort's interest in the teen had escalated into a full-blown obsession. Draco was still useless and had little to say on the subject other than offer some feeble insults about Potter's parentage, but Pansy Parkinson – who was as plugged into the Hogwarts gossip network as anyone – turned out to be a veritable goldmine of information when Voldemort had called her in for questioning. Though Voldemort questioned the veracity of some of her more outlandish tales – it didn't seem particularly likely that Potter had actually driven off a hundred Dementors as a thirteen year old – Pansy's first hand account of Potter's use of Parseltongue had been a watershed moment for the Dark Lord. Before, he had merely wanted the boy as a curiosity, a symbol of his dominance, and if he made a passable Death Eater, so much the better. But now, Voldemort needed Harry. He needed someone he could trust to handle all of his Death Eaters' buffoonery, to take the lead on the operational side of the organization and free Voldemort to work on the big picture unobstructed.
Then Harry had said it. "As of today, I am officially withdrawing from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft of Wizardry." Fifteen words that set Voldemort's heart soaring to the heavens. Of course, Voldemort's immediate reaction had been to spit a mouthful of pumpkin latte all over himself, and that was the reason the Dark Lord was muttering and upset. After a quick Evanesco Voldemort was listening to the press conference, this time with rapt attention.
"Please people, if you can't ask your questions one at a time, I won't answer any of them at all," came Harry's voice through the Wireless headset. The background hubbub died down and the Boy Who Lived called on a reporter.
"Why are you leaving school, Harry? Is it to do with Dumbledore?"
Harry's voice sounded exasperated. "I've commented on my relationship with Dumbledore more times than I care to count. That's not what this is about. I'm leaving Hogwarts because I don't feel like I can follow my true passion to the greatest extent there." There was a pause, and then Harry continued. "That leads me to my second announcement. I have decided that I must be true to myself and pursue my passion for flying as far as it will carry me. Effective since my visit to the Department of Magical Games and Sports…oh, just about three hours ago now, I am now eligible as an unrestricted free agent for the British and Irish Quidditch League."
Rather than being sent into another frenzy, the reporters seemed to have been struck dumb by Harry's second announcement. Finally, one of them recovered enough to ask a question.
"I don't understand," the reporter began. "It's been rumored for years that you wanted to become an Auror upon graduation…why the sudden shift?"
"Well you answered the question yourself," said Harry. "Those were just rumors. In truth, I've never really wanted to be an Auror. Why would I want to spend my life working as a glorified police officer, eternally ordered around by the corrupt and incompetent Ministry? I've loved flying since the very first time I rode a broomstick; it is hardwired into the very core of my being. I'll be flying until the day I die, so why not make a career out of it?"
"But what if you're not good enough to compete in the league?" asked another reporter. "Shouldn't you have school to fall back on?"
"If it turns out I'm not good enough then obviously I'll have to reevaluate my options," said Harry. "I don't think that will be the case, however. And even if it is, well, to be frank, I have more than enough money to live a life of absurd excess without ever cashing a Gringotts draft. Any endeavor I take on will be purely for my own enjoyment, and being an Auror simply does not fit that bill."
"What about the war though, Harry? How can you fight You-Know-Who and the Death Eaters if you don't finish school? Wouldn't you be in the best position to defeat them as an Auror?"
"Are you kidding," asked Harry, and Voldemort thought he heard a smirk in the teen's voice. "There's more ways to help defeat Voldemort than mere violence. I can use my votes in the Wizengamot and the Galleons in my Gringotts account to help the Ministry and others bring that madman to his knees. But even if I were to fight Voldemort directly, am I likely to defeat him with knowledge from NEWT Defense Against the Dark Arts? I doubt it."
"But Harry…"
"No 'buts'! I'll remind you that as much as everyone wants me to be the savior, Voldemort is most likely to be killed by an Auror or a mutinying Death Eater, not by me. The only way we can defeat Voldemort is for all of us to come together in that effort; it does no good for everyone to sit back and rest its hopes on one teenager. Now, if you don't mind, Blaise and I are headed back to the Leaky Cauldron. You can follow and ask questions if you like, but we should stop blocking Pewter's door."
Voldemort slowly tuned out as the press followed Harry up Diagon Alley and turned his thoughts inward. This was fantastic news. If Potter was leaving Hogwarts, then he was taking himself completely out of Dumbledore's sphere of influence. The boy would need guidance, he would need a more powerful wizard to mentor him and show him how to unlock his full potential. If he acted quickly, Voldemort knew that he could be that mentor. He did not believe for one second that there truly was no rift between Potter and Dumbledore; why else would they not have spoken in months? Why else would Potter have left Hogwarts?
The Dark Lord paused on this last question. Why had Potter left Hogwarts? The boy said he wanted to play Quidditch. Quidditch? Bullshit. Something else was at work here. Harry Potter was planning something, something that he needed to be away from Dumbledore to do. What could that be? Voldemort's first thought was that Harry planned to attack him all on his own, but he dismissed this idea as quickly as it came. To be sure, Potter had a fiercely independent streak and could be foolhardy and rash, but he was not insane or suicidal.
Could the boy perhaps be planning on joining the Death Eaters? This too seemed unlikely, Voldemort was certain that he would need to coerce Potter into his ranks. What was going on then?
Voldemort considered Potter's new girlfriend, Blaise Zabini. Her family was a somewhat old group of purebloods that had come to Britain from Italy a few centuries ago. The past several generations of Zabinis had all been sorted into Slytherin, but none of them had ever shown a particular inclination toward following a Dark Lord. Voldemort himself had coveted Blaise's father during the first war, but the Unspeakable had been extremely skilled at evading the Dark Lord, and Voldemort had been forced to recruit Rookwood instead. He didn't know much about the girl herself other than she wasn't one of Malfoy's group. Voldemort wasn't sure if that was a bad thing or not.
In any event, dating the girl proved that Potter was truly growing apart from Dumbledore. He was certain that if Potter were Dumbledore's Golden Child, he would reflexively hate all Slytherins and would scarcely look at them, let alone date one. Futhermore, if absolutely nothing else, she was now a kidnapping target Voldemort could use to leverage both the elder Zabini and Potter if need be. This was all shaping up well for the Dark Lord.
He returned his thoughts to his plot to get Potter. The heart of his plan was essentially standard operating procedure: he would kidnap someone very close to Harry and use that person's life as leverage to bring the boy into the fold. There were two complications with this in the case of Harry. First, Dumbledore had seen to it that everyone close to the boy was under the stringent security, making it nearly impossible for Voldemort to accost anyone he might want to in their homes. The second complication was the problem of actually getting a message to Potter to let him know that someone had been kidnapped and Voldemort's conditions for that person's release. Potter was sealed up in that infernal hidey-hole the Order had used as its headquarters before Potter's falling-out with Dumbledore, and short of attempting another invasion of the boy's mind – a risk Voldemort was not keen to take – he had no way of contacting the boy there. On top of these was Voldemort's overriding concern for secrecy in this whole affair; he did not want anyone to even suspect that Potter was his before he was ready to make that public.
Voldemort's solution was complex, but he felt it was necessarily so. He knew that the Minister of Magic's office was equipped with owls that could find anyone at any time and deliver a message to them, almost no matter what magical defenses the intended recipient had, including a Fidelius charm. Indeed, the only way for one of these owls to not reach its destination was if there was a very specific ward in place that killed all messenger owls that reached it. Voldemort was certain Harry would not have one of those for it was common knowledge the boy loved his snowy owl dearly, perhaps more than he loved any human. If Voldemort could get at one of those owls, he could be certain to reach Potter.
This in turn led to Voldemort's decision of who to kidnap. Though he could not reasonably attack the Weasleys at the Burrow, he might be able to take Arthur Weasley from his job inside the Ministry. This would be especially convenient if he did it at the same time as he went after the Minister's owls. Thus, the basic outline of the plan was settled: Voldemort would infiltrate the Ministry of Magic under some manner of disguise, kidnap Arthur Weasley, and then steal or otherwise obtain one of the Minister's owls.
Even within this plan there were further obstacles. Following the battle in the Department of Mysteries, the Ministry had instituted a new security system. Magical sensors had been placed in every room and hallway in the ministry and if they detected any offensive magic, the entire building would be locked down and a special squadron of Aurors would be dispatched to the area with the disturbance. If Voldemort wanted to carry out his plan, he'd have to do it without a single curse. The second, albeit less serious, obstacle was that the Minister's office had been warded against all manner of concealment charms for as long as such wards had existed. So he would have to somehow appear as himself while stealing the owl, without allowing anyone to see him and sound the alarm.
It was a tall order, but Voldemort had an idea…
As Blaise pulled him into the room, Harry allowed himself to smirk and cast a roguish wink over his shoulder at the reporters still following and yelling questions before pulling the blonde into a deep, sensual kiss and kicking the door shut in the faces of his pursuers.
As soon as they heard the door snap into its frame, Harry and Blaise broke apart and cast every privacy charm they knew, Blaise covering the door, Harry the windows. When they finished, the pair grinned and shared a high-five and a hug in the center of the room.
"Well done," said Blaise when the hug ended, her eyes radiating mirth.
"You don't think we overdid it," he asked, also smiling broadly. "I was sort of concerned about…"
"No, I thought squeezing my bum as we went up the stairs was quite a nice touch," interjected Blaise.
"That's not what I was going to ask about," laughed Harry, "I meant the whole bit about following my 'true love of Quidditch.' You honestly think they'll go for that?"
Blaise shrugged. "The press are morons and gossip reporters are especially so. They'll buy it, they'll sell it, and before the end of the week everyone else will have bought it too." Blaise smiled and laid a hand softly on Harry's chest. "Everything went perfectly today, everything is going perfectly."
Harry returned the smile but did not linger. He pulled a Chinese finger trap out of the inner pocket of his robes, inserted his finger and offered the other end to Blaise. "Shall we?" he asked.
Blaise removed her hand from Harry's chest, touched the finger trap and said, "Heathrow." A familiar jerk on the navel, and they were gone.
"I mean seriously, how do Muggles travel like that?" asked Blaise for what Harry thought had to have been at least the fortieth time. "Stale air, uncomfortable seats, smelly Muggles…and can you believe how rude everyone was? The Muggle in front of me kept raising and lowering his seatback every few minutes, he nearly upset my juice!"
"Stuff it," ordered Harry. "Are you and Tonks ready yet?"
The Platinum Quartet were crouched on the roof of the Museum of Egyptian Antiquities, crouching and hugging closely to the dome to minimize the visual distortion effects of their Disillusionment charms. Blaise and Tonks were busy rigging a harness system that would allow the team to enter the museum and deliver the pulse without triggering any of the security systems they were attempting to knock out. This had the added benefit of being completely non-magical; indeed, Hermione had insisted that the whole mission be carried out with as little magic as possible so that magical authorities, who might be made curious by the total failure of the alarm system, would have no reason to investigate further.
"Yeah, we're ready," said Tonks. "All four lines attached and ready to go."
"Then get on with it," said Harry. "Our return flight is in three hours and we'll want plenty of time to get through security."
Blaise passed out the steel rope lines among the team, Harry attached the end of his to carabiner on the harness he had donned hours ago and waited for the rest to follow suit. Soon, the four had lowered themselves into the lobby of the museum and paused, hovering ten feet above the floor. Harry gave a nod to Blaise and the pureblood closed her eyes and began chanting.
It was a beautiful thing to watch. Shortly after Blaise began chanting, the room, illuminated softly by the moon, began to blur. Before long, the blur seemed to condense into soft white streaks until they pervaded the air, obscuring all else. Instinctively, Blaise lifted her arms in front of her and cupped her hands a foot apart, as if she were holding an invisible beach ball. The soft streaks began to drift into the space between Blaise's hands and swirl closer together until they formed a small uneven sphere. More and more streaks joined the sphere, causing it to grow and spin faster than ever before and consequently accelerating the rate at which other streaks were attracted to the sphere. Before long, all the streaks were gone from the air and the sphere, writhing tempestuously, filled the whole space between Blaises' hands. Harry could not help but gaze with unabashed awe at the sphere; his rational brain could not explain it, but he felt the most powerful compulsion he had ever felt toward the sphere. It was perfect and he longed to touch it more than anything in the world. Had he not been so wrapped up in his own obsession with the sphere, he would have noticed that Tonks and Hermione's faces bore the same look of naked desire.
Blaise stopped chanting and opened her eyes, smiling softly at the ball when she saw it. Her gaze lingered for only a moment, however, before she closed her eyes once more and whispered, "Liberate."
Instantly, the whole room was filled with white light, brighter than Harry had ever thought possible, blinding Harry along with the rest of the group. As suddenly as it had come, the light disappeared and the team watched as what could only be described as a shockwave of magic raced out of sight down every hallway of the museum. After a couple seconds, Blaise sighed and turned her head to the rest of the group. "It's done," she stated simply, almost as though she was sad to have left the company of the sphere of magic.
Silently, the group lowered themselves the rest of the way to the floor and were pleased when no alarms went off. They quickly detached themselves from their lines and set off: Tonks and Blaise to the King Tut exhibit to liberate it of its most valuable treasures and Hermione to the same location to find the team's true prize.
Meanwhile, Harry strode purposefully to the security room adjacent to the lobby. Inside, he found two Egyptian men squabbling in Arabic, desperately hitting every button on the control panel before them in the vain hope that something would make their monitors come back on. The men stopped and looked up when they saw the door open and close, but being unused to detecting Disillusioned wizards – and indeed, being wholly ignorant to the idea that such a thing might exist – did not see Harry and returned to their hopeless pounding on the control panel.
The corner of Harry's lips twitched slightly into the beginning of a smirk, but he ruthlessly suppressed it. You must not enjoy this, he told himself furiously. You are only doing this because it is necessary!
Properly cowed, Harry somberly raised a 9mm pistol he purchased from an arms dealer earlier that evening and leveled it at the nearest guard.
BANG
The guard fell to the ground, instantly dead, bleeding horrifically from the bullet wound in his head. The other guard, his face and uniform spattered with the blood of the first guard, staggered backwards into the far wall in shock and began looking around wildly for the assailant, eyes streaming.
"I'm sorry," Harry said aloud before leveling his gun once more. He meant it. "Muggle thieves would kill you. So too must I."
BANG
Harry turned away from the gruesome scene he had created and reentered the lobby. He leaned against the wall and shook violently, fighting the urge to vomit. Killing without dark magic to supply false euphoria was horrible. Those men had been innocent, guilty only of being assigned to work at the wrong time on the wrong night. Harry knew he had to do it to maintain the farce that this was a Muggle operation, but he could not help but hate himself. Finally, one thought broke through the self-loathing: By the grace of Merlin, I hope I can still feel this way in seven months.
Several minutes later, when Harry had finally composed himself, he entered the King Tut exhibit where the three girls were hard at work smashing the glass displays and packing the ancient treasures into charmed duffel bags. Hermione was the first to notice Harry and immediately dropped her duffel, ran to his side and wrapped the Boy Who Lived in a hug. Harry returned it, clinging to his best friend with all he had. Blaise and Tonks joined the pair and laid comforting hands on Harry's shoulders; Blaise rubbing his right and Tonks his left.
After a moment, Harry broke the embrace and asked, his voice still somewhat dead, "Have we got it?"
"Yes, I've got the pendant here, Harry," said Hermione softly. She reached into her pants pocket and retrieved a small golden pendant in the shape of a winged cobra. Harry took it from her and examined it closely. It was exactly as depicted in the picture Blaise had shown him on his birthday, which now felt like eons ago. The cobra was reared up in the characteristic threat position, hood flared, mouth open and fangs prominently displayed; it appeared to be hissing. The wings were spread powerfully halfway down the beast's back and were covered in scales.
Seeing the pendant in person had Harry giddy with excitement, his distress over his earlier murders completely forgotten. "Are we sure the enchantment still works?"
"Yes, Harry," said Blaise. "The Golden Amphiptere of Thebes is as potent as ever."
Harry smiled broadly, unable to contain himself. "Then let's pack the rest of this and get out of here. We've got a plane to catch."
It was 3 a.m. on Sunday morning and Lord Voldemort was readying himself for bed. There was a common misperception – one that Voldemort had worked long and hard to cultivate, for it made him seem less human and thus more scary – among Death Eaters and the general public alike that the Dark Lord did not sleep. In reality, Voldemort simply had a very odd sleeping schedule that typically saw him to bed around four or five in the morning and not awake again until past noon. This had first developed when he was an up-and-coming Dark wizard learning the tricks of the trade; it only took so many midnight raids and past-midnight secret meetings before staying up late became a habit. Nowadays Voldemort genuinely preferred his schedule...there was something calming about the silence and solitude of late nights that he simply couldn't replicate anywhere else.
There were two reasons Voldemort was going to bed so early on this night. The first was that it had simply been a long day. The younger Malfoy had somehow snapped back to his former self and was once again strutting and preening around the manor, acting for all the world like one of the many peacocks that patrolled the grounds. Beyond that, he had learned in the Daily Prophet that all Gringotts accounts belonging to suspected Death Eaters would be partially frozen pending a Wizengamot vote on whether or not to seize them. Though Voldemort had long-since withdrawn all his assets and moved them into investments, Muggle banks and privately-controlled vaults, he knew few of his followers would have had this level of foresight, meaning that a demand for payment for their services as Death Eaters could not be far off.
The second reason was that Voldemort was trying to reset his sleep cycle – if only a little bit – so that he would be well-rested for Monday's assault on Arthur Weasley and the Minister's special owls. In order to get aroHe walked und the Ministry's wards against offensive magic and concealment charms, he had decided that he would simply possess Arthur and make him get the Minister's owls and then go home at lunch due to "illness." The plan was simple and effective, and Voldemort went to sleep confident that Potter would be his by Monday night.
As soon as he lost consciousness and began to dream, Voldemort found himself standing on an infinitely long and infinitely wide white plane. How odd, thought Voldemort, who was more accustomed to dreams of brutally torturing and killing the more idiotic among his followers. He walked around for a few steps, but seeing that this accomplished literally nothing, stopped and waited for something to happen.
"Hello," said a familiar voice. The Dark Lord whirled around and saw Harry Potter standing there casually, observing the Dark Lord with a grin.
"Harry Potter," said Voldemort. "How interesting. What are you doing in my dreams?"
"You're not dreaming, technically," said Harry. "Although you did need to be asleep for me to get you here…and Merlin did that take a long time. Do you always stay up so late?"
Deciding it wouldn't be worth it to lie, Voldemort ignored Harry's question. "You haven't answered me," he said, drawing up as much authority as he could. "Why are you here?"
"I've come to grips with the prophecy lately, and I've come to fulfill it," said Harry simply. "Surely you know the one I'm talking about."
Voldemort was nonplussed. "What, you're going to try to kill me here? You'd be lucky to so much as wake me up! Stupid boy!" Voldemort turned his back on Harry, as if daring the teen to take a shot at him. Perhaps I was wrong to covet him so much, Voldemort began to think, but Harry's next words stopped him dead.
"What makes you think 'fulfilling the prophecy' means me trying to kill you?"
Voldemort turned slowly to face the boy, his mind racing. "What do you mean?" he asked.
"I mean that the prophecy won't be fulfilled by either of us killing each other. In fact, it would be fulfilled by the exact opposite," said Harry, grinning at the Dark Lord. "Let me show you."
Harry screwed up his eyes in brief concentration and a large rectangular screen appeared before Voldemort's eyes. Both the Dark Lord and Harry watched as one of Harry's memories materialized and began to play on the screen. They watched together as Stillstone opened the Prophecy Box and as Grabtooth began chanting over the orb in Gobbledegook. Voldemort's breath caught in his throat as he recognized the ghostly figure of Sibyl Trelawney appear out of the orb,
And then she said it. Fifty-nine words that set Voldemort's world on fire.
"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches
Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies
But the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, for he has powers the Dark Lord values above all
And together they shall be invincible, for neither can die while the other survives."
Voldemort did not question his good fortune. He did not wonder if the memory might have been altered, or if Harry might have his own motives for coming forward. As pure, unmitigated joy coursed through Voldemort's body, only two thoughts broke through into conscious articulation.
I am finally immortal.
The world is mine.
Author's Note: As you may or may not have been able to tell, this was a somewhat important chapter. Allow me to clear up a couple issues that I'm sure are to arise
-Yes, Harry has deceived Voldemort with a fake prophecy of his own. How he accomplished this and how he will maintain the charade for seven months will be revealed shortly, most likely in the next chapter. It would be wise to notice the characterization of Harry in the final scene and the point-of-view from which it was told.
-Yes, you will soon learn about the Golden Amphiptere of Thebes and why Harry and the rest went to such great lengths to steal it. Obviously, the name of the artifact lends itself to title of this fan fiction.
OK, maybe that didn't clear up much at all. Deal with it. Let's move on to the reviews! As always, I have selected the five best reviewers since the last update and am responding to them here. Not in any particular order...
To meteoricshipyards: Typically, I prefer to respond to reviews that are more in-depth than yours, but you brought up something interesting. The phenomenon Harry experienced in Chapter One is referenced twice in this chapter...the first should be obvious, and figuring out the second will give you a large hint as to what Harry is doing in RotA.
To Stick97: Thank you. I could not agree with you more about the horrendous disservice JKR did to Hermione in the final two books. Thankfully, she has been gloriously reimagined in the movies...even if they have to keep her with Ron. Sigh. Lifetilt. Your observations about where I am taking Hermione in this fic are astute...though I don't think I've shown it much yet in this story, Hermione is my favorite character in the Harry Potter universe and I plan on having a great deal of fun with her before I'm done.
To 1Azrael1: I've sort of alluded to this a couple times throughout the story, particularly in this chapter, but I have a theory for why wizards don't simply jack Muggle things all the time. Its my belief that the Department of Magical Law Enforcement must conduct its own investigation of all major thefts in the Muggle world and somehow scan to see if any magic was used to assist or conduct the robbery...and they would then, theoretically at least, have some way of tracing the villains responsible. Furthermore, I think most wizards would probably consider themselves "above" robbing Muggles for their livelihood. That does not mean, however, that unscrupulous magical individuals could not make a fortune through dishonest means in the Muggle world. I believe I have alluded to this before (or simply said it out loud), but in the RotA universe, a great deal of the Black fortune that Harry inherited at the beginning came from liberal use of the Imperius curse against Muggles with whom the Blacks entered business dealings.
To taxzombie: All my readers should know by now that there is no easier way to find your way into this section than to praise my characterization of Voldemort. taxzombie is the latest beneficiary of this :)
To YamiNoTomoyo: Thanks so much for the review! Strangely, you were (I believe, terribly sorry if I missed someone) the only person to comment on the alibi! I thought for sure that would be more popular! Oh well. You'll notice that the description of the Golden Amphiptere of Thebes does not match up precisely with the traditional description of an amphiptere. As you'll discover, it was the intent of the creator of the pendant that it not be exactly like the real thing. Unfortunately for your hopes that Harry will gain an amphiptere as a familiar, though this was something I planned on in the very early days of planning for this fic, it's not gonna happen. You may be pleased by some of Harry's other animal acquaintances, however :D. As usual, I've left hints.
FAQs
-Why does your German suck so bad? Did you use some shitty online translator? OK OK OK, you got me. I took German in 8th, 9th and 11th grades, but by the time I wrote the german passage earlier in the story I was definitely rusty...and that doesn't begin to scratch how rusty I am now. Terribly sorry to those of you who have commented on this. Out of curiosity, would anyone be willing to serve as a German translator for me? I don't really think I'll need to use it again, but it would be nice to know if someone was willing to do it.
-Why did you give Harry eleventy bajillion Galleons? Why must authors always use this crutch? I can't speak for other authors, but I am not using Harry's inheritance as a crutch...it has genuine importance to both the plot of RotA and the deeper themes I'm attempting to explore in RotA. You'll notice that there is no scene in RotA where I describe in rhapsodic detail a long shopping trip Harry takes through Diagon Alley or to Harrod's or something similar.
-Why don't you post more often? In truth, I'm a pretty busy guy and I just can't give fan fiction the level of attention I once was able to. I'm a junior at a fine college, I'm working both a paid retail job and an unpaid internship, I have a girlfriend I've been dating for 3 years. Much of the free time I do have is consumed by online poker, which, considering that I made more through it than through my "real jobs" last year, could very easily be considered a third job. This is not to say that I don't love all of you or that I don't care about the story, because I do very much. It's just that I have many more things competing for my time now than I did when I began this project in high school. However, as I said at the top, my only New Year's Resolution this year was to update this fic at least every two months this year. I hope to keep that resolution.
As always, please review! And once more, follow me at /supremostories for the latest RotA news and updates.